


Divine beings

by ExiledPrincess



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bellamione Cult War, Corpse Bride challenge, Discord: Bellamione Cult, F/F, Inspired by Corpse Bride (2005), Team Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-07 22:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20824487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExiledPrincess/pseuds/ExiledPrincess
Summary: Bellamione, Corpse Bride inspired AU. I need hot cocoa and hugs.





	Divine beings

_We are weaned from our timidity _

_In the flush of love’s light _

_We dare be brave _

_And suddenly we see _

_That love costs all we are _

_And will ever be _

_Yet it is only love _

_Which sets us free. _

_~Maya Angelou _

Once upon a time,

There was a young girl, so bright both in intelligence and kindness, that she illuminated every room that she entered. Casting it in shining beams of golden light. But underneath the surface of charm and delight was someone who had suffered through loss and grief their entire life. Every day, the enchanting witch struggled to grapple with why she was even bothering to get out of bed that morning. When she had so few left whom she could trust. Confide in. Those left, who she feigned the best of interest were only her friends when she was useful, helpful, kind. But outside of their adventures, they were embarrassed to be seen with her. Sitting at the end of the breakfast table. When she did try to speak, she was often talked over by someone more outspoken. She knew that if she were to disappear that nobody would notice.

Nobody except maybe her professors. Who constantly would shower her with praise and approval at her unbelievable gifts. Her insights and incredible work-ethic. The way that she applied herself to her studies, and took to each subject with the goal of having total mastery. She was a prodigy. And it was what she lived for every day, to learn and to use what she studied to benefit her fellow witches and wizards. To hopefully someday, save their lives.

But again, that little voice in the back of her mind would snide. What was the point? It wasn’t like it really mattered in the end. She did not matter.

Summer vacations were the most difficult time of year, as the busy shuffle, non-stop animation of school life was brought to a stagnating halt. Silence. The lively sounds to nothing but her distant relatives stepping on the creaky hardwood floor below her. 

She indulged in her studies as much as possible but there was only so much she could fill her mind with before her concentration would waver. And she was left to be maddened by the slow tick tock of the clock. Minutes felt like hours. And days felt like years. There was no escape.

One afternoon, she relinquished herself from the home that had become her prison. Going by train to a cemetery that was overcast with dark skies. But she found the shadows that loomed over her to be actually good company. As opposed to a threatening presence in the back of her aching heart.

After spending a good hour, crying albeit softly in front of her parent’s memorial. She began to walk the grounds. The humid summer but dark clouds created a most pleasant mist all around. A fog almost. Across a clearing, away from the cemetery there was a rotting chain link fence where from behind wild, feral dogs barked madly. Their growls, barks carried through the field of dead. Sounding like a melody to Hermione’s ears.

Walking upward to a tall hill that overlooked the entire cemetery. There at the center was a large black olive that had arms which outstretched into the clouds. Weary from her hour long commute there and then hours of walking, she sat and resting at the foot of the tree. Breathing in the air of death and nature with a sigh of relief. The grass heavy with the smell of cold rain.

When she saw out of the corner of her eye, an outline of a figure. Causing her to jump back. Before standing on shaking legs again to investigate. Circling the tree until the skinny shadow of a person came into full view. They weren’t dead, for the gentle rise and fall of their chest. But their blue skin and their ribcage protruding through their chest showed that they weren’t alive either.

Her petal pink lips parted at the sight of them. Despite having no life, no pull to this earth, she felt the strongest gravitation toward this woman. With their long tresses of ebony curls, long eyelashes that fluttered against her sharp cheekbones.

As if sensing her presence, the woman lifted her head and opened her eyes that were opaque. Her endless black orbs staring into their golden-speckled brown ones for a small eternity.

“Who are you?” The goddess of the non-living finally asked. The bride to Hades. Persephone.

“My name is Hermione, and you?”

“Bellatrix, Bellatrix Black.” The said with an aristocratic tilt of their head, before extending their skeletal hand out to shake their warm one.

“A pleasure” Hermione said with a genuine smile. “Mind if I sit beside you?” She asked.

Bellatrix shrugged. “I don’t see why not. But surely you don’t want to spend all day in a creepy place like this?”

“You would be surprised.”

They fell into a companionable silence until Hermione finally asked. “So… why are you here? Instead of you know…”

“In Hell?”

“Yeah…”

“I’m waiting for my groom to show up.”

“I’m sorry?” Hermione asked, taken aback. For some reason feeling a pang of disappointment.

“I’ve been waiting for my beloved, to-be husband for over seventy years. I stayed waiting at the church hill over there. Rain, snow. He told me to wait. Promised me that he would show up. Not to stray elsewhere, that he would be there.”

If Hermione didn’t know better, she’d think those were tears accenting her voice. Maybe she was crying. Maybe she couldn’t because she was dead. Hermione didn’t know. But she still reached to affectionately hold their hand, although she didn’t reject the touch, Bellatrix scoffed.

“I’m not looking for pity. He’ll show up, he said that he would.”

Hermione didn’t say anything to that, just continued to hold their hand until the sun was beginning to set over the horizon. As the young witch got up to leave, she saw the woman’s lifeless eyes take an even more haunted look. Accentuated by the darkening surroundings.

“I’ll come back.”

“Okay.”

Hermione could have sworn she saw them smile. But it might have just been a trick of the moonlight.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The young witch continued to visit the forgotten bride nearly every day of Summer. Forgoing eating, studying, every aspect of living apart from sleep and continuing to love this woman. They talked about anything and everything, they read books together. And shared dark secrets that would never leave from under the black olive tree where they were shared. 

Still Hermione longed for the day that Bellatrix would finally recognize her undying love for them. How she’d been completely enamored with her, body and soul since the day she laid eyes on them. That she would follow her into hell if she asked. She would burn a thousand times, just to have this ethereal goddess by her side.

Of course, she knew full and well that this day may never arrive. 

The bride had devoted herself to the heartless fiancé, who stole her heart and never returned it. He took advantage of her, took her soul and laid her body bare to a starving death.

Hermione would never understand it, ever.

How you could knowingly hurt someone, intentionally. Watch as you break them apart and tear at the very seams that are holding their fragile body together. How you can watch them sob and beg for relief that only you can provide. Only to laugh and snide at their pathetic cries.

But oh, what Hermione would give to have her accept her love. They would embrace, touch hands in the most magical and electrifying of way. They would kiss each other, the taste of their cold lips against her own. She would kiss them as if their mouths were of tea and wine and she was a woman of unquenchable thirst drinking from them with unheeded affections. They would make love, passionate and all-consuming as the fires of hell themselves. And then lay intertwined under the cool of night.

As days went on however, as she laid beside the ebony-haired woman, so close yet so far. She became too weak to even imagine such things. How could she for as long as she had denied herself food. Her pale flesh was as ghostly as the whites of her eyes. The shadowed divots of her ribs and collarbones. Soon made her look not much more alive than the woman beside her.

She felt like fine china, a simple rattle away from shattering beneath Bellatrix’s uncertain touch.

Soon the fallen angels laid dead, side by side. Each dying only to be with the love of their life.

A burning, all-consuming desire that fueled the bride but now a corpse. Still ethereal and divine.

Who lost their fight and will to survive. 

A desperate longing that would never be satisfied.

Choosing to love is a most certain death, but without it, you will never even survive the night. 


End file.
